


Jerry’s Has Brunch, and Other Revelations

by KatydidWrites



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Brunch at Jerry's, Getting Together, How Do I Tag, Kegster epiphanies, M/M, Pining, senior year blues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 12:52:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11059371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatydidWrites/pseuds/KatydidWrites
Summary: Jack and Bitty are two of Holster's best friends, but he would never have guessed they'd get together. What else has he been missing?





	Jerry’s Has Brunch, and Other Revelations

The problem isn’t Bitty. The problem isn’t Bitty and Jack, together. That isn’t the problem, not really.

He and Ransom are walking back to the Haus, each of the others having dropped out along the way, and Holster tries to explain but it isn’t coming out right. He drags his feet through the muddy leaves and pulls his jacket more tightly closed. He tries not to think about how much he hates campus this time of year.

“You totally knew, didn’t you? As soon as we got the text, you knew Bitty was going to tell us about him and Jack.”

“Chyeah, duh, but it was too late to change my bet,” says Ransom.

“I still thought it was going to take them months.”

“Months? Come on, Holtzy, there’s no way Bitty could keep a relationship to himself for months.”

“I mean—yeah, I guess you’re right. I just, I dunno, I figured Jack wouldn’t want to tell people yet, so. Plus we only even figured out that they're together a few days ago.”

Ransom gives him a weird look. “It doesn’t bother you that they’re dating, right?”

“What—Rans, of course not! I’m hurt, bro.” He tries to make it sound light.

“Right, yeah, of course not. Now look, the important question—how the fuck did you let me spend four years here without trying Jerry’s brunch?”

He chirps Rans all the way back to the Haus for that, kicking at the muddy half-frozen leaves. He’s never minded this time of year at Samwell before. It’s just, this is the last time he’ll be on campus for it. It’s almost winter break already, and then there’s just spring semester left, and graduation. He isn't ready. He knows he isn't ready.

The problem isn’t Jack, or Bitty. The real problem is, they’re two of his best friends and Holster never saw it coming—so what else has he missed?

He has a feeling he’s been missing a lot.

 

\--

 

Holster spends winter break at home, marathoning Arrested Development, trying to relax, trying not to mind that Ransom’s replies to his texts get shorter and shorter and that he’s dropped out of the group chat entirely. Then one day he gets a text that just says _March broke up with me._

_Dude. What the hell._

_What happened?_

_I don’t want to talk about it_

_I just needed to tell somebody_

_Can you let the guys know? I don’t want them asking about it when we’re back next week_

_Sure, no problem. Got your back_

_Thanks_

 

Holster wants to ask, wants to know more, but he also knows it’s a bad idea. When Ransom says he doesn’t want to talk about it, he doesn’t want to talk about it. For the rest of the day he keeps pulling out his phone, opening up the conversation, closing it again. Every five, ten minutes. He just can’t leave it alone, and it’s driving him nuts. So the next morning he finally sends _hey, can’t wait to see you_

_You too_

Holster smiles, puts his phone away, fights the conviction that there's still something he's not seeing.

\---

 

They’re a month into spring semester when he brings up Jack and Bitty’s relationship again to Rans. It’s 2am and neither of them had been able to study, or wanted to sleep, so Holster had declared it “Impromptu RomCom Double Feature.” They’d ended up with _The Holiday_ followed by _Ten Things I Hate About You_.

“I figured it out—why it was so weird to me when they got together.”

Rans lifts his head a little bit from Holster’s shoulder. It isn’t impromptu romcom night without cuddling, after all. “Why?”

“Because they’re such good friends,” Holster says, figuring that explains everything.

“Um, yeah?” says Ransom, clearly waiting for the rest of the explanation.

“You know. They started off rocky in Bitty’s taddy year, but they’ve been friends for ages. They already knew each other so well. They hung out all the time, lived across the hall from each other, did dumb shit at kegsters, changed in front of each other in the locker room. After all that—where did the spark some from? Where’s the romance, you know?”

“Oh my god,” says Ransom. “You weren’t weirded out because they’re dudes. You were weirded out because they didn’t _meet cute_. You’re such a sap!”

“Shut up,” said Holster.

“You’re weirded out because they didn’t, like, lock eyes across a crowded room and then swoon into each other’s arms the day they met.” Ransom is laughing so hard he almost falls off the bunk.

“Shut up, okay? They’ve been on the same team for two years, it is weird! I mean, you’re bi, could you ever imagine having a crush on someone on the team?”

“Dude. I’ve had crushes on, like, half the team.”

“Wait, _what?”_

“Bro. I know you’re tragically straight, but it can’t have escaped your notice that SMH is hot as hell.”

“I mean—I just, I can’t imagine having a crush on somebody who’s already a friend.”

“Holtzy, I _only_ have crushes on friends. Friends who are fun, and nice to me, and also hot? Basically my kryptonite.”

“But, like, who?”

“Shitty first, obvi. Then I worshipped at the church of Zimmerman’s ass for a while, once I found out he was fun to hang with and not actually a hockey robot. Johnson, for a bit, which he told me was sweet but “not really necessary, since this was all backstory anyway.” Then when Bitty showed up—I mean, he’s fucking adorable but in a sexy way, you know? None of the frogs or taddies though, that would be weird.”

“Wow, okay. What about me?” Holster doesn’t realize he’s going to ask until it’s already out of his mouth and then he’s suddenly, weirdly nervous. Since when does he get nervous around Ransom?

“Bro, of course, that was like half of freshman year. You’ve got the best ass after Zimmerman.”

“Um,” says Holster. “Thanks?”

“Anytime. It’s cool though, I don’t pine like Bitty—I enjoy the crush until it’s over, and then it’s over, you know? I definitely wasn’t getting involved with anyone on the team.”

“Still doesn’t sound romantic to me,” says Holster, ignoring the weird twist in his stomach at the casual finality of Ransom’s voice. _And then it’s over, you know_. Half of freshman year.

How had he missed that?

 

\---

 

Ransom’s birthday is on a Saturday in March, which of course requires a kegster. Bitty pulls them all into decorating—streamers, balloons, glitter, the works. Holster throws himself into it with a zeal that surprises even him. After an hour you can barely see the walls below a riot of color, and you can’t walk without getting tangled in the sweeping strings of the balloons. The decorations extend from the basement into the attic, where bright purple letters spell out HAPPY BIRTHDAY BRO WE LOVE YOU. Holster’s work. Purple is Rans’s favorite color. Jack is on the road, can’t make it, but Shitty swears up and down he wouldn’t miss it for the world. Once the decorating is done Bitty bustles into the kitchen to get to work on a list of baked goods, the ones Holster has heard Rans rhapsodize the most over.

Holster knows his limits, and isn’t about to interfere with the baking of a genius. Instead he makes a last run to the store for all of Ransom’s favorite snacks, then brews a killer batch of tub juice. He has his own moments of genius, okay?

Then the birthday boy arrives, with half the volleyball team in tow, and it’s time to _party_.

Two hours later Lardo has thoroughly kicked Holster’s ass at beer pong, and he’s downing some tub juice to cleanse the taste of failure. He’s drunk but not shitfaced, leaning back against the wall to catch his breath, and across the crowded room Ransom is getting down to a heavy, thumping beat. He’s wearing jeans and a white shirt that shines against his dark skin. He looks thrilled, carefree, exactly what Holster was going for when he suggested the kegster. He’s putting his whole body into the music, head tilted back, laughing at something Bitty said. He looks—good.

He looks gorgeous. Absolutely beautiful. All of a sudden, he looks like everything Holster’s been looking for and then some.

Fuck.

 

The next morning Holster wakes up hungover as hell, but hopeful. Probably last night was a fluke. Probably last night was a potent combination of friendship, objective physical attractiveness and industrial- strength tub juice. In the painfully sober light of morning, probably Ransom will look like the same cool bro he’s always been.

Holster leans down from his bed, fighting dizziness, and sees Ransom spread out shirtless across the bottom bunk.

Fuck.

 

\---

Inevitably, the first person he talks to about it is Shitty “will affirm all identities” Knight. While he’s visiting Boston, and looking at apartments. Apartments that he’s planning to share with his d-man partner and all-around-best-bro, Ransom, after graduation.

He’s fucked.

Shitty listens to the whole damn story without interrupting once, because Shitty Knight is a minor miracle. Then he gives Holster a long hug and a single piece of advice.

“Bro. You need to talk to him.”

"I know,” says Holster. “I’ll think about it.”

 

\---

He thinks about it. He thinks about it during games, while he and Ransom move on the ice like they can still read each other’s minds. He thinks about it during lazy spring afternoons on the quad, and half-assed joint study sessions in the library. He thinks about it in the attic late at night, while listening to Ransom’s breathing even out into deep sleep in the bunk below him. He thinks about it through kegsters and finals and that last tearful evening when they trek out to Faber and kiss the ice—Lardo, and Holster, and Ransom together. But somehow, it's never the right time.

And then that's it, Holster is out of time to think about it, because it's graduation day and the ceremony is over and their families have hit the road because “you have a long way to go, we’ve got this.” Now it's just him and Ransom standing in the already-packed attic getting ready to load the car, and this of all times is when Holster says "Rans, we need to talk." And now Ransom is standing there with a pinched and worried face, on the verge of full coral reef mode, because Holster is trying to explain and it isn't coming out right.

“Like, I know we had that fight, and it sucked, and then we decided to go to Boston together and that’s 'swawsome, and—I know I said I was your bro, and I got your back, and I meant it. But also, I _always_ call you my bro and I’m not, like, at my best when I’m talking about feelings and I didn’t know what word I wanted and I still don’t but honestly I feel like bro isn’t the right word anymore—“

“Look, Holtzy, chill. If you’re having cold feet about moving together it’s okay, I get it. I kind of sprang it on you last month so—“

“No no no, Justin. Rans. That’s not what I’m trying to say here.”

“So what are you trying to say here?”

“I—look, give me a minute.”

So they take a minute, Ransom squinting worriedly at him while he looks around the attic which isn’t theirs anymore. He looks at the bare walls, and the boxes Ransom has labeled carefully on each side, and the duffel bags full of neatly-wrapped breakables, and the color-coded master spreadsheet Ransom has printed out. He looks at all of it, the beautiful order this amazing guy has created out of pure chaos, and wonders how badly he’s about to fuck it all up.

“Listen Rans, I really like you.”

“Yeah, no duh, I would hope so.”

“No, I mean, I really like you. Um. I should have said something before, probably, but I just didn’t know and now we’re heading to Boston as best friends and I mean that’s great, that’s exactly what I wanted like a month ago, but now I’m not so sure.” Holster is looking at Ransom now and Ransom is looking… confused. Well, that’s fair. “We decided to move to Boston as bros and we can still make that work, I know we can, but I just had to tell you first that I really like you because it didn’t seem right to try and hide it now that I finally figured it out. Um. Please say something.”

Ransom is still staring at him. “You mean, like, romantically?”

Holster is blushing now, probably beet red, he knows it and he’s never felt stupider in his life. “Yeah. That.” _Oh wow, really smooth._

“Okay,” says Ransom. “Give me a minute.”

So they take a minute, Holster staring fixedly at the stripped-down bunk beds and willing his face to cool off. It doesn't. What the fuck did he just do? Ransom is his best friend and he ruined it.

"Okay," says Ransom. "Okay, that's—a lot, I wasn't expecting that. Wait, I thought you were straight."

"Uh, yeah, I thought so too, but it looks like I'm—not. At least when it comes to you."

"Okay," Ransom says again. "So you want—what? You still want to move to Boston together, but— _together_? As boyfriends?"

Holster panics. "I mean you don’t have to just because I said something I know you weren't expecting this and I went and changed everything I know it's too fast I'm really sorry Rans--" He stops, covers his face, takes a deep breath. "But yeah, in an ideal world, that's what I want."

"Holtzy. Adam. Breathe." Ransom is _right there_ , which isn't helping with the breathing situation, hands on Holster's shoulders, smiling just a little. Then he wraps his arms around Holster, a hug like they've had a million times before, and Holster relaxes into it in well-worn response. It's okay, it's okay, they're still friends and he didn't fuck anything up. They'll go to Boston together as bros and unpack their stuff together according to Ransom's spreadsheet and order some pizza and watch 30 Rock, and he'll get over the way he's been feeling. Everything is good.

Then Rans pulls back slightly, and leans down, and kisses him, and everything is _wonderful_.  

Well, for a minute everything is awkward, because Holster wasn't expecting it and he blurts out "wha--" against Ransom's lips. He’s never had to tilt his head up instead of down for a kiss before, and he's never been so unprepared for a kiss before, and while he's categorizing differences he's never felt stubble against his cheek before and it's--

Wonderful. Because it's Ransom.

Holster is kissing his best friend, and it's perfect.

Ransom pulls back, just a little, resting his forehead against Holster's. "Okay. This boyfriend thing? Now that I know it’s on the table, that's what I want too. For the record."

"'Swawsome."

"Yeah."

"Wait, does this mean our first date is packing up a car and moving to Boston together? That's intense."

"Or," says Ransom, "we could leave these boxes for an hour or two, and go get brunch at Jerry's, before we hit the road. Now that I know what I've been missing."

"Rans. Justin. You read my mind."

 

 

 


End file.
